A Most Metal Tete A Tete: Sensual Synthesis Of Destro And The Baroness
by Quillon42
Summary: Come for the tryst between Destro and the Baroness (occurring right after the G.I. Joe Gamesmaster episode); stay for the second and last time (really I promise) I will have Heidi Atelier (ProJared's wife) rant maniacally as a WWF/E persona at Holly Conrad (See WTF Tuberstars for the first time; virtually nobody read that so I had this followup shamelessly ride another story).


A MOST METAL TETE A TETE: THE SENSUOUS SYNTHESIS OF DESTRO AND THE BARONESS

(WITH BONUS: THE SELF-PROSTITUTION OF THE ULTIMATE WHOREIOR)

By Quillon42

Ever impatiently waiting now was the ruthless ruler with the reflective rear end, the monolith of malice wondering where his beldame of bespectacled brutality had gone off to these past several hours. Far more traumatic than discovering a bobblehead proxy for that most contumacious Commander of Cobras had been the protracted absence of Destro's apocalyptic paramour. While he ruminated in his secret yet spacious underground bunker reserved only for him and his lady of lethality, the Scottish sociopath reflected upon how ardently he wished to so put his lustrous rubber to her raven-follicled road once again.

In the time that it took for the anarchic adjutant's aluminum eyelashes to sweep open then closed and then ajar again, his swart-swathed siren had returned. As per usual the villainous virago was natty in noir, bound up in the most bombastic of black ensembles from torso to tarsals. Destro divined, though, that the flesh underneath was flustered, that this maiden of a most anthracite allure had been unsettled by a most recent turn of events. Just a minuscule cadence of beats later and the Baroness Anastasia Cisarovna was divesting herself of that same onyx-opaque bodysuit, that costume which caused doomful Cobras to stiffen by the millions and even platoons of rough and randy Joes to juke with themselves alone in barrack bunks. Indeed, no man or woman could headily withstand the Sears-Tower-tier of temptation herein that was this Russian ravisher in fact.

(And yes, the sister was a Soviet in the instant story; many other renditions rattled off by various Hasbrothas have mentioned various international origins of the treacherous temptress, even going so far as Vietnam for the murderous madame's place of birth; suffice to say that this author has graciously permitted Baroness Cisarovna, as the 715th waifu from his own personal harem (the 716th being a German iteration of Lady DeCobray, and the 717th being a Romanian version) to bless your senses with her presence in this tale).

Verily it was the sweetest sound to Laird Destro, the choral unclenching of what was a mile of zipper teeth in the mind's eye of the malevolent man, as Ana ran that yearnworthy YKK down the length of the front of her spandex most stygian. At present the palladium peepers of the lecherous leader were still stationed behind the locked hangar bays of his alloyed eyelids, the devious Des teasing himself for a second before beholding the basest beauteousness that was his ever-faithful frau. Millimoments later and the Commander's carbon-cheeked compadre permitted himself what he knew would be a most pleasing peek.

Yet the utter frontal flashbulb of sensory stimuli that usually arrived with the sight of a barest Baroness…this day such a spectacle was unfortunately intermediated most abruptly by the occupation upon her skin so silky, specifically of threads tinted with swatches of vermilion and obsidian.

"Stasia, my love," began the tin-torsoed tyrant, gesticulating with a thumb of brazen bismuth, "what could possibly be those two ghastly and garish…materials upon your magnificent figure?"

"…

"…

"…

"…

"…

"…What, this?"

Then splaying graceful fingers of both hands to travel up and down the perfection of pallidity that was her body most phosphorescent.

"It's naught but a scant swimsuit which served me well as a substitute ensemble for a most harrowing misadventure just now."

"Its presence upon your person offends me, Ana, to the quick."

"…

"…

"You know not the simplest thing regarding apparel and attraction, Destro, my love."

Following this, Cobra's comeliest cadet reached behind her back, the fay of a femme at first now nonchalantly…then much more spiritedly as the seconds elapsed anxiously…worked to wrench both her chest's colossal co-occupants free of the tenuous top holding them in place.

Anastasia's steely squeeze reached with his lithium limb a beat in order to assist the sexiest sister…but a baneful breath later and the babe burst free at last, she tossing the brassiere and even so shouting at it with exasperated gusto:

"_GOOOOOO BRAAAAAAAAA!"_

and leaving her lover with the diabolical dairy-deluge delight of this demigoddess's dread knockers as they so heaved ever heavenly now out into the open air.

With the same solid resolve as those steadfast soldiers who charged the camera at the commencement of every airing of the Joes' theme, Miss Cisarovna now salaciously sauntered towards her metal-masted master, she spiritedly swiveling with her hallowed if hiemal hips, she slinking her thumbs southward and hooking her skimpy scarlet-sable bikini panties down the klick-lengths of her gleaming lily legs, the sight of the noble nymph's tallowy thighs making Des deposit much silvery saliva down the synthetic verticality of his thorium throat.

Now the warfaring waif was utterly upon her mark, her linen kisser up in his mug of manganese.

She played upon his beryllium biceps with her paradisiac palms, then led her campaign of carnal compassion toward the northern territory of her crackpot compatriot's chromium crown. More particularly, the piceous princess's patootie had proceeded so that in the succeeding second her perilous perineum hovered at the level of Destro's line of eyesight. And then the ruthless regent that was the Baroness in fact went and held the coziest of court, her satin-soft hindquarters assuming their prim proper place therein upon the titanium throne of his ferrous features.

"Really…You know naaaaathing, Dehhhssstro."

There the atramentous temptress sat for a sensuous spell, her culo couched well into the cold countenance of her oxidized inamorato. All the while the synthetic-skinned Scotsman drew what erotic alimentation he could from the ravishing rear of his military mistress.

By the time Des had drawn sufficient sustenance from Ana's sultriest of seats, there had remained enough passionate heat upon the foe's ferric face to beat out and forge a second or third or two-googolth backup Sword Of Omens for Lion-O, or Power Sword for He-Man, or Star Metal Sword for effing Conan (this last being most relevant as the Cimmerian actually had one or more Hasbro series).

Following this instantly was the wondrously tremendous wintry twins of the Baroness's breasteress, those grandest gossamer glaciers gravitating downward and forward into the gallium grimace of that guy she sporadically regarded as a god. Voraciously the latter returned the feverish fervor of the former, he laying his leaden lips against the delicious dual mammarial mass devices driving determinedly into his fiendish physiognomy.

Thence upon his setting the entirety of his umami sensors upon the ever so natural and willowy white whey of her beauteously billowing belly, once the livid leader so sensually sent the searching sentry that was his tongue of tungsten into the cavern of crave that was her navel, the madman of magnesium deemed himself wholly aroused enough to invade his maiden's most poignant pyramid of darkness. This Destro did most recklessly yet resolutely for a lively reveille that seemed so many soothing years, his raucous Rattler of rhenium raiding her tastiest of Terror Dromes, his murderous Moray of mercury massacring this sylph's most sweltering of Silent Castles.

And it was while the Baroness herself was barrel rolling atop the landing strip of her cocky carrier, she clad now only in glasses fogged with the fury of a furloughs-flung fuck, that she began to hear that critical cue of which she was most anxious:

"Uhhhhh…

"Uhhhhh…

"UHHHH!..."

Her indigo eyes widening all the more while she rode roughly upon her iron ally, the former fully aware of the latter's habits regarding his most unstable of orgasms.

"Yyyyyy…

"Yyyyyy…

"Yyyyyyodelllehheigheeeyodelllehheigheeeyodelllehheigheeeyodelllehheigheee…"

Thenceforth Anastasia so buckled down, the ebony-tressed empress tamping down for her behemoth breasts to toss fully into her master's metalloid features, all before he could finish his yodel yells and involuntarily utter the prerequisite Alpine-"Ohhhhh-Yeahhhhhh" that necessarily accompanied such erotic exclamations and consequently triggered ceiling collapses and cave-ins.

Still saturated with the copulative charge which the treacherous tryst had imbued within her, the canny Cisarovna allowed herself to reel with the oncoming impact,

[BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM]

the concussive force of the climax propelling the oppressoress several feet into the air of their high-roofed rest area. Always preternaturally prepared, the globe-threatening girl grabbed at her sallow sacrum, thus deploying the parachute stealthily stowed within her posterior. Efficiently the device had dashed out of her undercarriage from cords to canopy, and in the ensuing seconds the brutal babe so floated flutteringly back down to Destro, she settling upon his cadmium chest with her calid cheek and calmest of palms to cradle the same.

Although all of this final phase elapsed in mere instants, the lady's lazy lover was already asleep, he put out most placidly. Indulging in an impulse to absorb information after fornication, be it through reading or watching something, Ana opted for the latter, she switching on the screen meters away and very suddenly shuddering at what she saw.

Through the cathode the Baroness beheld a bastion of banal bitchiness at levels which she had never before and would never again witness. At first Anastasia thought that the entity on her set with the painted face was Zartan, given the long and horrid hair framing the frightening countenance which she watched. In fact it was not said somewhat-vampiric devious disguise artist, but rather another of a tattooed mug—or at least one impersonating the same—so crossplaying as him even.

_(NB: The following address is a takeoff on the promo by the Ultimate Warrior (as directed to Hulk Hogan) prior to Wrestlemania VI…this is also known as the "Crash The Plane" promo and can easily be found on Youtube and such; note also that this author rearranged the syllables of the "KuroNekoCon" anime convention to "NekoKuroCon" so as to mirror the syllabic cadence of the name of the WWE's most infamous show of the year):_

"…

"…

"…

"Holllll'…Connnraddddd…

"SNNNORRRRRTTTTTT…

"Have…costume…have aaa…cossstume…to rival yours…

"SNNNORRRRRTTTTTT…

"…

"Asssss youuuuu, Holl' Conrad…travelllll tooooo…_NEKKKKKKOKURRROCOAAAHHHHHHNNNNN…_

"…

"Travelllll tooooo that Conventionnn…by conventional means…

"The normies and the furrrrrriesssss youuuuu cavorrrrrt wiiiiithhhhhh exxxxxperiennnnnce…warrrdrooobbbe malllfunctionnns.

"As you realize…_ALL_ that is left now, to do in any functional romantic relationship…is total self-prostitution.

"…

"…

"Do you, Holl' Conrad, perform self-harm?

"_DO YOU, HO CONRAD_…try to figure out the objective truth behind what the hell happened beyond the He-Said She-Said between me and my pencil-profile husband?

"Do you, Holl' Conrad…try and seduce…the furries who have even more kinks…_THAN YOU._

"…

"…

"Or do you, Holl' Conrad…

"…

"…

"…Kick the green card spouse out…

"…

"…

"…Feed all fifteen quintillion feathery guests in your house…

"…

"…

"…Take the two Tube channels…

"…

"…

"…(_That I have already sacrificed…so you can face my treachery_)…

"…

"…

"…Dispose of your loyal fanbase's concerns about your whereabouts, Holl' Conrad…

"…

"…

"…Assume control of your social media…Holl' Conrad…

"…

"…

"_SHOVE…YOUR PSEUDOCAREER…INTO A JARED KNABENBAUER TOUCAN-BEAK-NEOSSEDIVE, HO CONRAD! _

"…

"…

"Push yourself…to total…self-prostitution.

("Sleep with other, married men, Holl' Conrad…just like I so completely have not slept with 691 other men repeatedly in the course of my own marriage.")

"…

"…

"_AS YOU REALIZE, HO CONRAD…_

"You are about to enter…a dystopia of absolute infidelity…

"Into body parts…too well known…too well worn…

"Infinite…

"Intimate…

"Mileage…

"…

("Ahhh…smell the smegma, Whoreiors…)

"…

"_DO YOU, HO CONRAD…_look for a place where you can check yourself in for mental treatment…

"…

"Or do you, Holl' Conrad…acknowledge my hypocrisy…to everyone from BFFs to betrothed…

"And register that I may be even more of a ready receptacle for seed…_THAN EVEN ALL OF YOUR BIRD FEEDERS PUT TOGETHER…HO CONRAD?!_

"…

"…

"…

"You, Holl' Conrad…must self-prostitute.

"So that you will know, Holl' Conrad…who is…

"…

"…

"…

"…_THE POLY ONNNNNE._

"…

"…

"…

"_FOR, HO CONRAD…_

"I am NOT the Poly One…that you Tweet of.

"…

"…I am _NOT._

"…

"…

"…

"…_I, Holl' Conrad…_

"…

"…_Am…_

"…

"…_The…THOTTY…_

"…

"…_ONNNNNE…_

"_SNNNORRRRRTTTTTT…hhhhhhhhhhaaaaaAAAAACCCCCC!"_

…

…

…

Shaken by this sister's psychosis, the likes of which the Baroness had never been party to in her decades of devilishness, the sultana of the snaky soldiers hugged her by-now-pretty-much-common-law husband ever closer to her. Never did the dame expect that this would awaken him, however.

"…

"…Wha…?

"…

"…

"…Ana…

"…Mmmmmm you are my perfect serpent consort, my love…

"…I could…

"…

"…

"…Yodelleigh…yodell…yo…"

Then sensing possible post-coital paroxysms that could result in another incidence of an interior avalanche, Anastasia effected a donkey chop to the back of her beloved's neck, knocking him out anew.

"Yo…'Stro," she murmured, pulling him close for comfort and protection, the latter sentiment here against thoughts of that terrifying termagant she so saw just now on the television.


End file.
